


Pragma

by TheRedWave



Series: Variations on a Theme; Lumione [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, Drama, F/M, Love, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWave/pseuds/TheRedWave
Summary: His lips twitched in that familiar, hideous smirk. "Ah, the inestimable Ms Granger. Do come in."In the years following Voldemort's defeat, Hermione Granger and Astoria Greengrass have become friends. Inevitably, Astoria's Blood Curse takes it's toll. Hard choices are made, and it's up to everyone else to deal with the fallout.This fic is about Death, and love, and all the good things.Part Two of the Variations on a Theme series. A post-battle of Hogwarts Lumione oneshot.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Series: Variations on a Theme; Lumione [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1496228
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44





	Pragma

**Author's Note:**

> So, to summarise, I'm writing a series of Lumione one shots about different forms of love. As per my rule, each one-shot has to stand on it's own, and be 10k words or less. This fic weighs in at 10k exactly. XD 
> 
> I've already done Storge, which is familial love. This one is Pragma; the love that can grow over time, perhaps one born of service or duty. 
> 
> This story is not the sequel to Storge, but it is part of the same series of oneshots, all centered around the same theme. You don't need to have read Storge in order to read Pragma!
> 
> Please let me know what you think.

Hermione Granger pounded on the doors again and again. Nothing. 

She looked up at the ivy-covered mansion that Astoria and Draco called home, searching for the merest movement at a window to show that someone was in. Nothing. 

Hermione had been looking forward to this all month, and she had thought Astoria was as well. They were supposed to be having tea (and more cake than was good for either of them) while they talked politics. 

Hermione frowned at the strangeness of the situation. Astoria was meticulous and not the sort of person to renege on a meeting with a friend without good reason. 

Sighing in frustration, she shifted the weight of the medicine basket from one hand to the other. Most of the colorful potions and salves therein were little more than placebos, but Astoria had come to rely on them. 

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione left the basket on the doorstep. 

Feeling uneasy for reasons she couldn’t explain, Hermione looked for her friend amongst the crowds of various high-society functions and in the aisles of her favourite shops. But the days went by and Astoria was still missing, as if she had been cut from the world. 

* * *

She heard things, here and there. Experience had taught her how rumours could twist and distort the truth, so she dismissed the gossip for as long as she could. It was simply too ridiculous to be true. 

Then Ginny brought it up and she heard her instincts scream loud and clear. Excusing herself hastily, she apparated as near to Saint Mungos as she could manage. 

* * *

The Healer led her to a door and left her there. The queer emptiness of the corridors was nerve-wracking and she might have turned back, but she had to know. Something as inconsequential as nervousness would not be enough to make her turn tail and run. 

She reached out to let herself in, but was cut short by the door swinging open. 

There, garbed all in black and with a formidable air, stood Lucius Malfoy. In one gloved hand he held his cane; in the other, his ebony wand. The tip was pointed directly at her face, sending a shiver down her spine.

The sight was so aggressive and unexpected that it utterly astonished her. She stood with her hand outstretched while he examined her, as if waiting for something. His pale eyes narrowed. 

The seconds crawled by but still, he did not lower his wand. He only stared at her, unblinking, unfathomable thoughts racing behind his eyes. 

Frozen, all she could say was: “What are _ you _doing here?”

Incredibly, some of the tension eased out of him. After another long look at her, he sheathed his wand into his cane in a smooth motion. 

His lips twitched in that familiar, hideous smirk. “Ah, the inestimable Ms Granger. Do come in.”

The instant he turned his back on her, she slipped a hand into her bag to rest on her wand. If he tried anything, she would not be caught off guard again. 

It was surprisingly dark in the hospital room, and it took a moment for her vision to adjust. 

To her eyes, the room looked large enough to house half a dozen patients with ease. It was spotlessly clean in the way that only hospital staff or servants could usually manage, but the floors were hardwood and covered with thick, plush rugs. Bookshelves lined the walls. There was a wide, low coffee table with a tray of tea and sweets of every colour and variety imaginable. 

Draco lay on a bed fit for a king, propped upright by a mountain of cushions. An animal skin rug covered the foot of the bed. 

Despite its opulence, the room bothered her. This was clearly a luxury suite, and the windows would usually be enchanted to show visions of lakes and rivers, rolling hills, and all sorts of comforting things. But they were all shut and barred. If not for the little lamp at Draco’s bedside, the room would have been pitch black. 

Narcissa Black, formerly Narcissa Malfoy, sat next to her son. Her hand gripped her wand from where it lay upon her lap. She was visibly frightened to see them come in. 

Lucius Malfoy took his place in a chair beside the bed. Hermione noted that he did not invite her to sit. 

The patriarch gave a smile that easily could have been misunderstood as comforting, if it had been worn by another man. “You need not concern yourself, Narcissa. It is her. Only Hermione Granger would have the termity to question my presence at my own son’s bedside. As if I were a pauper brought in off the street!”

Hermione scowled and would have plunged headfirst into a blazing row with him, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction. Besides, he was now ignoring her with all his usual coolness, and really, she wasn’t here to cause a scene. 

She turned her attention to Draco instead. The rumours had been true, then. Astoria, she could have understood. She had been unwell since… well, forever. But Draco? He was more likely to invent an illness than actually suffer one. In fact, she couldn’t recall a time when she had ever seen him ill. Six years together at Hogwarts, and not so much as a sniffle. 

“What’s wrong with him?” She asked, and instantly regretted how harsh she sounded. 

“The Healers have been unable to determine the cause.” Narcissa said.

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. This was Saint Mungos. There were dozens of Healers here, all of whom were more experienced and knowledgeable than she was. Maybe she should have been content with their analysis, but she was still herself. 

She approached the bed. Draco had not stirred so much as a muscle at the sound of their talking, and nor did he awake at her approach. Instead, he lay like one already dead.

There were no tubes or monitors, not even a clipboard anywhere to be seen. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t a trained Healer by any means, but there were certain rudimentary spells that she had taught herself over the years. She performed them all over a tense few minutes. 

Heartbeat. Temperature. Breathing. All failing, fading. But...

“I don’t understand,” Hermione whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with him.” No poisons, no disease at all. She could see no wounds either. It was completely irrational, and yet… 

Every spell gave her the same answer; Draco was dying. Inexplicable, but undeniable. 

“Then you are more astute than the so-called Healers in this wretched place.” Lucius said. “You are right, there is nothing wrong with Draco.” 

“Then how?” She asked slowly. 

Narcissa sent her former husband a worried glance, which Lucius stifled with a wave of his hand. 

“There is little point in delaying the inevitable, Narcissa. She’ll figure it out before long.” 

“Figure _ what _out?” Her mind reeled. No natural disease could be the cause, she was sure of it. A curse was the only thing that made sense, and yet she had detected no dark magic either. 

When Narcissa eventually spoke, she shocked Hermione to her core. “Astoria carries Draco’s child.”

“I- That’s wonderful news.”

“It would be, if not for her blood malediction. The most reputable Healers have all agreed that she will not be able to carry the child to term. She will die, and the child with her, before her third trimester.” Narcissa said the terrible truth with aplomb, as if there was nothing heart-breaking about it. 

Hermione’s smile wilted on her face. She had no idea what to say. She had known on an intellectual level that Astoria’s condition wasn’t the sort of thing that people recovered from. But she had never imagined that it would happen so soon. Whenever she found herself thinking about her friend’s condition (which was often) she had always comforted herself by thinking, ‘_ Later, years from now’ _. 

“And Draco…?” She knew she was still missing a piece. What afflicted Astoria was an awful thing. But it absolutely could not have spread to Draco, she knew that for a fact; the blood curse was hereditary, but it was not infectious. She’d learned that during the long months she’d wasted trying to find a cure. 

After a barely noticeable pause, Narcissa answered, “Draco has done what was necessary. He is giving his life’s energy, every breath of it, to cleanse Astoria of the curse. She will bear his child and live a full, healthy life. From what we understand, the child will be born free of the curse as well.”

“But that’s not possible.” She blurted out. She had never heard of such a spell, nor even seen a reference to it. 

“It is old magic.” The older woman admitted. “But it is real. Astoria’s Healers assure us that her condition is much improved already.” 

Guilt flooded her. Astoria. She had not thought to ask. “How is she?”

“She is resting. The Healers believe that she will come out of her sleep in a day or so.” 

A day or so? _ A coma_, Hermione decided. _ Narcissa can call it what she likes, but one of my closest friends is lying in a coma, and if this spell doesn’t work, she is going to die. _

A silent minute went by as her mind raced. If what they were saying was true, Draco’s life was being siphoned away right in front of her. Completely undetectable, and completely lethal. 

Old magic, indeed. 

She had to ask. “Is this legal?”

Lucius said wryly, “If it is, the Ministry will find a way to make it illegal.”

She nodded. It was the sort of half-answer that she should have expected from him. “Can I have a moment alone with him?”

“Out of the question.” Lucius’ voice was arctic. His body language shifted and she thought that he was ready to throw her out of the room if she protested. Or try to, at least. 

Narcissa elaborated, “You may speak to Draco, but we will not leave him.” 

Hermione was tempted to argue the point but then her brain caught up. She realised that the family had not dragged their eyes from Draco’s face for the entire time she had been there. 

They were not trying to be hateful. In this room, it didn’t matter that she was a Mudblood, or even that she was Astoria’s friend. Whether they would admit it to her or not, they were too frightened to leave their son’s side. 

In the face of that terrible truth, privacy no longer seemed very important. 

She took a chair and sat next to Narcissa. She could not bring herself to sit beside Lucius. She leaned in and took Draco’s hand in hers. Cold, too cold. 

Looking down at his pale, pinched face, she found that she couldn’t even think of one thing to say to him that wasn’t about Astoria. She didn’t know enough about his interests to hold a one-sided conversation about them. It would be too shallow anyway. She should be saying something about forgiveness, even if she didn’t really believe in it. Maybe something about the value of life, and sacrifice, but she couldn’t do that with his parents right there. 

What she really wanted, more than anything, was a second chance. She wanted Draco to open his eyes and get up from that horrible bed, so she could congratulate him on his imminent fatherhood. 

Finally, she managed, “I’m sorry Draco. I really am. But giving your life for your wife and your baby… it’s amazing.” 

“My son will be the first to survive.” Lucius informed her cooly. “Write about _ that _in one of your books, Ms Granger. Draco will live.”

Now that was just spiteful, but she didn’t have it in her heart to be angry at him. Not with Draco lying there like that, so cold and still.

Hermione spent a quiet minute waiting, hoping that somehow, through the power of her presence, Draco would open his eyes. When it became clear that such miracles were not forthcoming, she asked sadly, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Perhaps if you could… stay for a little while?” Narcissa asked softly. “It might bring him some comfort to have a friend with him.”

She wanted to say that she didn’t think that she and Draco were really friends. They always tried to be polite to one another during her visits, but that was all. There had been too much bitterness between them, and neither of them had really tried. She’d never known how little time they’d had. 

She promised herself that if Draco somehow did get better, she would invite him out to Hogsmeade. She would sit him and Ron and Harry down at a table, order them a round, and force them all to be friends. And Neville and Luna too, why not? It would be an absolute disaster, but she would make it happen. 

Their past aside, Draco was giving up his life for the sake of his wife and child. He hadn’t even told anyone about it, he had just quietly sacrificed himself. What were a few years of cruelty compared to that? 

Her decision was made. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Narcissa gave her a watery smile, and resumed her stroking of Draco’s hair. 

In a hard voice, Lucius asked, “Will you report him?”

The idea had never occurred to her, but it should have. This was not the kind of magic that should be in the hands of former Death-Eaters. This was magic that interfered with life and death. She could only imagine what sort of awful things it could be used for, by the wrong sorts of people. 

Then there was the matter of personal risk. Narcissa and Lucius were Draco’s parents. They had some shadow of an excuse. But what about her? If Draco died and she did nothing, said nothing, she would be a part of it. It was collusion. 

She thought about it for a long moment. Compared to all the dangers she had overcome, a scolding from the Ministry did not particularly frighten her. “Is there any point? I mean… can it be reversed?”

For the first time since he had let her in, Lucius turned away from his son to meet her eyes. “No.” 

She did not doubt for a moment that he was telling the truth. She had never seen such an empty, desolate expression on a human face. 

She squared her shoulders as she committed herself. “Then I won’t report him.”

And just like that, they were allies. 

* * *

At some point, Hermione’s curiosity pierced the haze of her shock and she managed to ask, “I was wondering about your wands. Are you expecting someone?”

She was aware that the Malfoys had enemies, and not so very long ago she would have counted herself as one of them, but here? Surely there could be no possibility of an attack here, while their son lay dying? 

Lucius and Narcissa shared a look. A great deal seemed to pass between them, all unspoken. For a moment, she envied them. Even separated, they had spent so much of their lives together that they could understand one another perfectly. 

Finally, Narcissa replied, “They are for Him.”

Hermione blinked. “For who, exactly?”

Lucius rolled his eyes at the question, and a little bit of his contempt for her tinged his voice. “For Him, obviously. Death.”

“It is our right.” Narcissa rushed to assure her, sensible to Hermione’s incredulity. “We are Purebloods, and there is precedent. A challenge can be made, if He reveals Himself to us.”

Hermione felt herself draw back in shock. “You’re going to fight Death?” 

“We don’t have to win, you understand. A draw would be enough. Draco is our only child.” Narcissa seemed to think that that explained everything. 

“That,” she said hotly, “Is absolutely absurd.” Fight Death itself? It was almost laughable. They might as well make war upon gravity, or time. 

Lucius drew back in anger and hissed, “What do you know about it? What do you know of our customs? Nothing! How dare you-”

Anticipating a fight, Narcissa reached across their son and laid her hand on his.

“Lucius, please. Not while Draco is sleeping.”

He flinched, and suddenly Hermione felt terrible. A painful silence descended. 

Narcissa broke it first. “It was considered ancient tradition long before our time, and upheld only in certain circles, but it matters a great deal to us. If we can do anything at all to give him a chance, we will. So we will stay and wait, and see.”

It sounded like a load of superstitious nonsense to her. A fairy-tale for the desperate to cling to when they had nothing else left. But maybe that wasn’t important. What was important was that they believed in it, and that while she couldn’t make up for years of pretending Draco hadn’t existed, and for never acknowledging how heroic he had been right at the end of the war, she could at least do this. 

She drew her wand out of her handbag and laid it meaningfully across her lap. It was only through great force of will that she refrained from saying;_ though it all really is ridiculous. _

* * *

_ Vigil: The First Night _

* * *

Good intentions aside, it was excruciatingly awkward. 

Here she was, in a room with a dying man whom she had once hated, a man she hated still, and a woman she had spent years hating by association. This would have been a difficult situation even if she had been socially adept, which she wasn’t. 

She couldn’t think of a single meaningful thing to say that would not bring all their differences to the fore, and she refused to bring up the weather. More out of boredom than anything, she gave the tray of sweets an appraising glance, and was rewarded with a particularly poisonous glare from Lucius. Apparently, they were not for her. 

“Were the two of you close?” Narcissa asked tentatively. Her brown eyes were wide with eagerness. “In school, I mean?”

Her stomach fell, and Hermione almost wished Narcissa hadn’t said anything at all. Could it be that she had no idea how nasty a bully her son had been? If so, this hardly seemed the time to break the news to her. 

She scrambled for a likely excuse. “We were in different Houses. I was always in the library, so I never had much of a chance-.” Narcissa’s face fell, and Hermione wracked her brain for something neutral to say. “We had potions together.”

Narcissa brightened. “Potions was his favourite class. Such a talented boy.” She smiled down at him fondly. 

It took every ounce of willpower she had not to say that Draco could have been even _ better _at Potions if he had spent a little less time harassing his classmates and had focused on his work instead. 

A whimsical smile had stolen over the older witch’s face. “He wanted to teach potions, when he was young. Lucius, do you remember?”

Lucius was silent for a while, but eventually gave a stiff nod. Narcissa beamed at him. 

For their sakes, she tried to imagine it. Not the boy who had been so cruel to her, but the man he could have grown to be. The man he was now. 

“He would have been good at it.” Hermione said, surprised at the warmth in her voice. 

* * *

Somewhere outside the walls of Saint Mungos, the sun set. 

This fact was barely observed by the Malfoy patriarch and matriarch. They had apparently been here since the previous night, but parenthood had granted them the superhuman ability to ignore sleep deprivation. 

Hermione had no such luck. She tried - and failed - to suppress another yawn. 

“Ms Granger,” Lucius suddenly said. “You are clearly exhausted. Go to sleep.”

It was by far the most civil, least sarcastic, thing he had said to her all day, and Hermione thought she must have looked very tired indeed. But her pride demanded that she at least try to make it through the night. After all, if they could do it, why couldn’t she? 

Narcissa saw that she was about to object, and interjected, “Hermione, you are doing so much for us. Please rest.” 

Her refusal died on her lips. She could argue her way out of just about anything, but she had no defense against such maternal kindness. 

The matter was settled when Lucius made a sharp gesture with his wand and conjured a pile of blankets, which he floated to the floor. 

“You are no good to us if you cannot keep your eyes open. You must be alert, when He comes.”

Hermione managed to stifle her scoff of disbelief, albeit only barely. Feeling very self conscious, she laid down, hoping she would at least not sleep-talk in front of them. 

The last thing she was aware of before sleep took her was the sound of their voices drifting gently down. She was too tired to hear exactly what they were saying, but she thought they might have been talking about her. 

* * *

_ Vigil: The Second Night _

* * *

The hours went by. 

The war had taught Hermione to feel comfortable in confined spaces. Still, the tension of the situation weighed on her. She knew that the Malfoys felt the same, and so they filled the time with talking. 

They talked about any number of trivial things, at length. Not just about Draco, either, but their own interests. Plans for the future, tenuous as they were. Nothing seemed too unimportant. 

In passing, they also said important things. Apologies were made and accepted on all sides. Explanations were given and promptly discounted as being entirely unnecessary. Hermione knew that this was far from true. In any other situation, she didn’t think she could have behaved as if they had never wronged her. As if they had never watched her being tortured and done nothing to help her. 

Against her better judgement, she felt more and more drawn into the mystery of it all. This shared delusion that mortality could be fought off with only a bloodline and a wand. It was really rather fascinating, and she found herself going over the possible origins of the myth with Lucius while Narcissa dozed. 

According to Lucius, either he or Narcissa had to lay eyes upon Death directly. Then, and only then, could they make their challenge. 

It seemed to her than one could challenge Death, but that did not mean He would agree, and she said as much. Lucius admitted that this was so. It was Narcissa’s duty to provoke, trick or otherwise convince Him to agree to abide by the outcome of a duel. No easy task, but Lucius spoke as if he had every confidence that she could do it. If Narcissa succeeded, Lucius would have the chance to fight Death for Draco’s life. 

He did not have to say that he was afraid. It was written in the rigidity of his frame, in the clipped precision of his voice. He also did not have to tell her that since his time in Azkaban, he’d never been able to achieve his former proficiency. She remembered how easily he had been overcome when Ron and Harry had fought for her freedom, so long ago. 

Hermione also remembered that being wandless and powerless hadn’t stopped both Lucius and Narcissa from combing the ruins of Hogwarts for their son, and in the middle of a battle, no less. That took courage. She respected courage, even if she wished they’d shown it a little sooner.

Looking back, he never actually asked her outright. His pride would never have allowed it. But he loved his son and so he suggested, in a roundabout sort of way, that perhaps she could serve as his second, in the event of a Duel. She was, he mused aloud, a fighter of some renown. 

She agreed, all the while berating herself for getting drawn further and further into this nonsense. But how could she say no? Lucius, the man who had reviled and ridiculed her, needed her help. There was something in that, even if she couldn’t understand it. 

They’d been talking for almost an hour before she realised that they had been speaking as if they were two ordinary people, who did not hate one another. 

* * *

Hermione was thinking about getting some air when she heard a rustling, creeping sound coming out from the corridor. 

Her mouth went dry, and for some reason, she turned to Lucius. He had heard it too. His face stiffened with fear, but still he leapt up, wand raised. 

“Not him, you-! Not my son!”

Her battle instincts kicked in and she followed, wand in hand, ignoring Narcissa’s entreaties for her to remain. 

Blood pumping frantically in her ears, she ran out into the corridor, having no idea what to expect. A skeletal figure, all clad in black? A nebulous cloud? She had never thought about it, before. She had never given credence to the idea that something might actually happen. 

Instead, she saw Lucius looming over an elderly witch in musty old robes. He was unrecognisable from the dedicated (if rather snide) father she had begun to know. Rage had given him an aura of terrifying power. 

“I work here!” The witch shrieked from where she cowered on the floor. “I’ve been a ward witch for forty-”

Lucius was having none of it. “A likely story! Reveal yourself!”

The old woman tried to rise and Lucius screamed something at her. Her own wand-hand was twitching as the desperation rose, threatening to overwhelm her. 

Lucius drew himself up and Hermione saw with perfect clarity that he was about to strike her down, perhaps fatally.

“It’s not Him! Let her go!”

He paused. “How can you be sure?”

Striving to sound reasonable, she said, “I don’t think Death could look as afraid as she does. Somehow I don’t think an anthropomorphistic representation of a universal truth would know what fear is, do you?” She took a deep breath, feeling heartbeat slow. “Anyway, Draco needs you here, not in Azkaban.”

Lucius did not lower his wand, but nor did he press the attack. 

Finally he heaved a sigh and said, “Go. Do _ not _come near this door, ever again.” 

The old woman staggered to her feet and scurried away. She did not look back. 

The reality of it hit her, and her wand burned accusingly in her hand. 

They had almost just killed that woman for nothing.

Hermione said it aloud, because it needed to be said. “She wasn’t anywhere near Draco. She was just an old woman.” 

The guilt rose up in her, all the more bitter for the fact that she should have known better. Should have done more. What if he hadn’t listened? What if her reasoning hadn’t been enough to convince him? She should have disarmed Lucius the second she had come out into the corridor, hexed him so that he couldn’t harm anyone with his fantasies.

Lucius did not seem to share her self-recrimination. In fact, he didn’t seem to have heard what she’d said at all. A sheen of sweat covered his features. He sagged and for a moment she thought he might fall. He looked… hollow. As if his failure had eaten him from the inside out. 

She could understand that much, at least. He had thought that the end was near. That his chance had come. Even to fight, and lose, would have been better than the waiting. 

But she wasn’t ready to console him, and she didn’t think he’d listen to her anyway. 

* * *

Shortly after that, Astoria’s coma broke. She opened the door and came into the room, stretching her hands over her head as if waking from a short nap. 

When she remembered, her hands flew to her mouth and she flew to her husband’s side. She threw her arms around him and sobbed. There was something nauseating about the way Draco lay in her arms… so limp and pliable. 

Once she had collected herself, Hermione offered her friend a shaking congratulations on her pregnancy. The words rang false and hollow. Astoria did not seem to notice her anxiety, preoccupied as she was with Draco. 

Hermione had expected Lucius and Narcissa to hold Astoria accountable for what was happening to Draco, but if they in any way resented their step-daughter, they kept it well hidden. There were no accusations of any kind, nor even any prying questions. 

Instead the three of them sat and talked about how proud they were of him. What a wonderful father he would make, when his child was born. 

Hermione listened and despaired. Love had made them blind. 

* * *

_ Vigil: The Third Night_

* * *

  
  
Undeniably, horribly, Astoria blossomed. Her back grew straighter, her voice clearer. Colour came back into her lovely cheeks. The frail, fragile woman that Hermione had come to know vanished bit by bit. 

So did Draco. 

She could see him withering before her eyes. His eyes were sunken pits, his hands freezing to the touch. Astoria and Hermione took turns casting warming charms over him while Lucius and Narcissa held their watch. Nothing worked for long. 

The family was no longer able to deny what she knew to be true. The time was drawing near. 

A routine established itself. Lucius cast scrying, warning magics while Hermione cast every defensive spell she knew over Draco’s bed. When they both ran out of ideas they conferred in hushed voices, sharing whatever knowledge they had, spinning the threads of their magic together in the hopes that _ something _ would work. 

Astoria and Narcissa fought a different way. They filled the air with chatter and gossip, defying the dread that hung over them. Silence was not permitted to gain a foothold. They talked about all of Draco’s favourite things as if he would wake up, intrigued, and join their conversation at any moment. 

Their bubbling voices said clearer than words ever could, _ “Death, you are not welcome here.” _

And all the while, all four of them kept their fingers curled around their wands, waiting for their chance. They took turns patrolling the corridors, and their eyes were as keen as daggers as they swept around the room. 

But Death, as it turned out, was wily indeed. He did not come through the halls with wand upraised, and no heralds announced His coming. 

Sometime in the early hours of the fourth day, He slipped into the room between one sigh and the next, ushered Draco kindly under His cloak, and was gone. 

Hermione awoke to the sound of keening, and knew that it was over. 

_Months later. _

_ Ms Granger, _

  
  


_ I hope this letter finds you well. _

_Attached is a copy of Draco’s will, charmed for authenticity. I would suggest you read it at your earliest convenience, as you are mentioned therein at great length. Draco’s wishes for his unborn child are quite clear. He has listed both yourself and Harry Potter as the child’s Safekeepers. _

_Though you may be unfamiliar with the precise term, Astoria has assured me that our two cultures share a similar concept: God-parents. I warn you that they are not quite the same thing. I trust that you will, as always, perform your own research into this matter. In the interests of sparing you the effort, I will attempt to summarise. _

_In the event that the child should be in mortal danger, you would be expected to act in their defense. Upon your honour, you would be expected to use every means available to you to protect the child from harm. Your status as Safekeeper would expire upon the child’s eighteenth birthday. _

_It is an old tradition and not one enforced by magic. Rest assured, you would not be expected to care for the child in any material way._

_We are fully aware that you have every reason to despise our family. You are under no obligation to accept this appointment. You have our gratitude, regardless, for all your recent kindness. _

_ Yours in Friendship, _

  
  


Her hands moved over the parchment as if hoping to prise its secrets from it. There was no signature, nor even initials. There was only the embossed Malfoy crest, _ sans _the family motto, for which she was grateful. 

After several blissful days of trawling through books on the subject and finding no hidden clauses or caveats, she replied with her acceptance. She knew with complete confidence that she would defend Draco’s child in any way that she could. Guilt over her failure to protect Draco played its part in that, but it was far from the only reason. 

Though she would never admit it out loud to any of her friends, she felt strongly that her fate laid with the Malfoys. The vigil had forged ties between them that she could not deny. Nor, it seemed, could they. 

She had to admit, it had been really pretty clever of Draco. He had neatly ensured that his child would have two powerful, influential people as guardians right up until they came of age and would probably be able to defend themselves. 

The matter of the sigil was still a little confusing. She never did find out exactly which one of them had sent the letter. 

* * *

The maternity ward of Saint Mungos was an entirely different place than the room that Draco had been sent to die in. The shutters were all thrown open to let in the spring breeze, and the halls were bustling with activity. Life. 

Astoria sat in a high-backed armchair in a sun-drenched arbour, clad in a long blue gown. Her hair was coiled in a crown-like display about her head. She did not look like she had come out of labour less than an hour before. She looked immensely proud. Nestled in her arms, there was a small bundle of blankets. 

Narcissa and Lucius stood on either side of their daughter in law. A great light shone from their faces and it did not dim one bit when they saw her. 

“Hermione!” Astoria’s melodious voice rang out. “Would you like to meet my son?”

The bundle moved, and suddenly Hermione felt very dizzy. Her feet led her to stand with them. She looked down at the child that Draco had given his life to bring into the world. 

Astoria’s son was small, and pink, and a tad wrinkly, and at first Hermione couldn’t quite see what all the fuss was about. She did not dislike babies, exactly, but she could not call herself maternal by any stretch. Then the babe gave a sleepy gurgle and flailed around with one of his little fists. 

As one, they all made inarticulate sounds of joy. The lines around Lucius’s eyes softened, and it suddenly struck Hermione that Lucius was truly _ smiling _.

Speaking softly so she didn’t wake the baby, she asked, “Can I hold him?” 

Astoria didn’t even hesitate. She smiled and placed the babe in her arms. Hermione’s heart folded over in her chest and she felt tears sting her eyes. 

“Oh, Astoria. He’s just perfect. What’s his name?”

All three Malfoys preened under this praise, and the brunette most of all. “His name is Scorpius. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”

Scorpius opened his eyes and Hermione saw that they were crystal blue. She laid a gentle kiss on his forehead, and gave him back to his mother. 

_God of the Sun, indeed. _

_ Years later_

Hermione paid the driver and got out of the car. She stood in a dead end street in a backwater town. 

She approached the chain linked fence and the scrub yard skeptically. She checked the address written on her charm again, and looked up at the house. It was… ordinary. Two storied, with wooden slats instead of bricks, and a run-down porch. It was probably the last place on earth she would imagine the Malfoys would choose to stay in, which was probably why it made such a good retreat.

“Her-my-nee!” Scorpius squealed delightedly. He ran towards her at his usual breakneck pace, chubby arms outstretched. She caught him up and gave him a squeeze until he laughed, which never took very long. Scorpius was always laughing, and always delighted to see her. Ancient instinct made her rest him on her hip as she kissed his forehead.

“Hello, Scorpius!” She said, smoothing down his feathery blond hair down with her free hand. “Where’s Mummy? Is your Grandfather here? Grandma?”

“Everyone ‘cept Her-my-nee!” Scorpius started tugging on handfuls of her hair in earnest. It was probably his favourite game, and at three years old, he was very good at it. 

Just as she was about to surrender, Lucius came out out into the garden. His face was drawn in worry, and without preamble he hurriedly took Scorpius out of her arms. 

“Scorpius, you know very well that you are not to leave the house! Not for any reason.”

His tone was harsh enough that Scorpius’ lower lip trembled warningly, and Hermione gave him a reassuring smile.

Lucius was never harsh with Scorpius, no matter what mischief he got up to. He must be frightened out of his mind for his grandson. Why else would he choose to pack up his family and move to Muggle America, of all places? 

She looked at Lucius out of the corner of her eyes as he lowered the wards on the house. She had come to know him well enough to see the signs of stress on him; the creases on his clothes, the tension in his body, like a horse about to bolt. But it was not all bad. He was clean shaven, and his hair was brushed and hung neatly about his face. 

Stressed, yes. Afraid, yes. But not hopeless. That was something to be grateful for, at least. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Lucius.” She said. It must have been an enormous risk, breaking the enchantments to call out to her as he had. 

“Thank you for coming, Ms Granger.” He replied, ever distant. “You are Scorpius’ Safekeeper, but given the circumstances, it would not have been unreasonable to refuse.”

_Yes, Lucius. An obsolete tradition says that I’m supposed to protect Scorpius. Do you honestly think that’s the only reason I’ve come? Obligation? Nothing else? _

_I abandoned the front lines for you. They needed me too, and you had to know that. But the necklace started glowing, and I didn’t even think about it. I just dropped everything and came. I betrayed everything, everyone. All for you, you stupid man. _

Not for the first time, she gave serious thought to strangling Lucius Malfoy. 

The Muggle house was filled with magic. Piled haphazardly on the staircase were mountains of books and scrolls. Instruments of unfathomable purpose along with countless artefacts (which Hermione could have _ sworn _had been confiscated by the Ministry years ago) were packed tightly against the walls. 

The sight made her smile. It looked very much like the Malfoys had brought as much of their Manor as they could carry with them. They had not given up. 

Astoria and Narcissa were waiting for them in the kitchen, looking a little frazzled, but relieved to see her. The women embraced fondly. A few pleasantries were exchanged; the bare minimum that good manners demanded. Had she had a pleasant flight? Was she in good health? 

Narcissa searched Hermione’s face as she asked the inevitable question. 

“Will Harry be joining us?” 

Hermione didn’t say anything. Narcissa nodded slowly, and she saw them all take new stock of the situation with varying degrees of subtlety. They had been counting on his arrival. But Harry was not as selfish a person as she was, so he had done the right thing and stayed, honour be damned. 

Astoria tried to look brave. “Of course- we understand perfectly. He must be very busy, with everything that’s going on.”

Her pride reared its head and she muttered rather bitterly, “I’m sure we’ll manage without him.” 

Honestly. Sometimes they seemed to forget that she was the greatest witch of her age. 

“Of course, Hermione. We meant nothing by it.” Narcissa reassured her. “Scorpius, darling, why don’t you show us all your French?”

Hermione managed a half-hearted scowl at Narcissa’s obvious distraction, but the older woman simply curved her lips in a honey sweet smile. Within minutes, they were all sitting in a little ring around Scorpius, as though there was nothing wrong.

* * *

They were in the living room when the radio gave a warbling shriek and came to life. 

Narcissa and Astoria looked at each other in mute terror. Lucius went totally rigid. Her Gryffindor courage had never seemed so far away. 

The report began. 

Confirmed deaths, first. It went on and on. Astoria snapped out of the fugue first with a low cry, and took Scorpius from the room. Then came the list of hospitalisations, and then all the missing, and Hermione’s gorge rose. 

She could not stand to listen to another word. She barely had the wherewithal to stuff her wand into the pocket of her jeans before she fled the room, throwing open the door with a _ bang _and running out into the garden. 

But she couldn’t go anywhere, could she? Couldn’t step so much as a toe off the property line without putting them all in danger. She had made her choice, and she couldn’t go back. 

To top it all off, it was freezing cold. 

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione began to cry. 

She heard the door open, then footsteps padding behind her, and knew it was him. She rubbed her eyes furiously, though there was no way he hadn’t heard her sobbing. 

Something warm and heavy settled on her shoulders.

A deep embarrassment flooded her, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She did not face him. Despite her best efforts, the tears were still falling and she couldn’t stop thinking about all the lives that had been lost because of her. 

But Lucius didn’t know that, did he? Or maybe he knew and just didn’t care. The lives of those he deemed as outsiders, non-Malfoys, had never mattered very much to him. 

He sighed, though whether in frustration or exhaustion, she couldn’t guess. “Ms Granger. I appreciate that this situation is difficult, but you must collect yourself.”

“I don’t want to _ collect myself _ , Lucius, our friends are dying! Our _ people _ are dying!” Hermione turned to glare at him. “And for God’s sake, if you call me Ms Granger one more time, I swear I will _ hex you! _”

His lips gave a little twitch, but his voice was very serious when he replied, “If you insist, Hermione.” 

Her fingers twisted violently at the hem of his coat for a moment, but eventually she decided that she could find no flaw with how he had said her name, so she let it be. 

“I need you to be calm, Hermione,” he began carefully, “Because you and I have something very important to discuss.”

Against all reason, something stirred within her. Hope. 

She looked up at him. It suddenly became very clear to her that they were alone, and the stars were out, and wartime could be a little romantic too, couldn’t it? Love could bloom in tragedy. She and Ron had been proof of that. Harry and Ginny, too. 

Her breath was coming out in frosty huffs, but her cheeks felt rather warm. “Yes, Lucius?” 

“I am not certain if you heard before you, ah, left us, but the Shacklebolts have been killed.”

And just like that, she was crushed. It was almost amazing how effortlessly he could do that. “Yes, I did hear that.” Her tone sounded pathetic, even to her. 

He looked at her significantly. “The Shacklebolts, Hermione.”

She stared at him dumbly for a moment, and then she understood what he was implying, and all romantic speculations went right out of her head. 

“They were using the same screening configuration as you, weren’t they?” 

She saw in his face that the answer was yes, and she swore. Very loudly. 

“Do they know?” She asked, meaning Narcissa and Astoria. 

“I don’t believe so.” 

“That’s- that’s good.” She looked up at the stars, and he let her. She battled for tranquility, or at least the illusion of it, and finally won. “Lucius, what are we going to do?”

Gently, he replied, “I was rather hoping you would know. They,” and here he inclined his proud head towards the house, “will look to us, you realise.” 

She wasn’t really listening anymore. Her mind turned the problem over and over in her head. “We shouldn’t panic. For all we know, the Shacklebolts could have left the house. Someone could have made a mistake, or _ they _might have gotten lucky.”

“Perhaps.” Lucius said doubtfully. “But Irene Shacklebolt is- was, a sensible woman. And Kingsley was no fool.”

She took a deep breath. “We can’t panic, but we should prepare for the worst. We’ll cast new defenses, renew the screens.” 

Lucius shook his head, his mouth drawn in a thin line. “I have already used every protective spell, border or shield that has been known to work.”

Of course he had. Lucius Malfoy could be a little dense at times, but the years had made him vigilant where once he had been careless. “Then we’ll have to make new ones, won’t we?”

He looked at her with frank disbelief. “Invent new magic? We have neither the facilities, nor the time to undertake-”

“What did you call me here for, then?” Her voice rose. “To give up? We will _ make it work _, Lucius. No one is hurting Scorpius, and we are all going to be fine.” She said fiercely. “All of us. Are you going to help me, or not?”

He said nothing. A cold wind blew and cut right into her, despite the warmth of his coat.

She decided. “Let’s go back inside. We’ll put Scorpius to bed, and then we’ll tell them.”

The look on his face made it very clear that he didn’t agree. “Is that wise?”

Wise or not, it was necessary. It would be wrong to keep this a secret and besides, she was hoping that Astoria might be able to come up with something. She was a brilliant witch, and very creative. From what Hermione had been able to glean over the years, it was Astoria’s research that had found the spell that had saved her and Scorpius. No small achievement, considering generations of her family had come up with nothing. 

“They deserve to know, don’t you think? And I think we’re going to need their help, anyway. Is Narcissa any good at Charms?”

He gave her an affronted stare that eloquently said, _ of course she is. _

A small smile twisted her lips. “Well, that’s that, then.” And just then, she came to a decision. “Oh, just one more thing.”

Hermione took his hand in hers and looked up at him. She willed with all the strength of her heart for him to see what was right in front of his face. 

He stared at her hand as if it were a foreign creature, making her abandon the coquettish smile she had been preparing for this very moment. She restrained the urge to giggle and slap him all at once, and settled for standing on her toes to kiss him instead. 

The kiss was chaste, but she still felt the quake of shock run through him. She was very careful not to be passionate, not to deepen the kiss and overwhelm him, even though the warmth of his lips almost drove her mad. Her hands itched to touch his cheeks, roam through his hair. It was only through sheer force of will that she was able to keep them entwined in his. 

She counted out the seconds in her head. One, two, three. 

She drew back. “When this is all over, Lucius Malfoy, you and I are going to have a talk.”

His cheeks were flaming. She had never imagined that he would be capable of something so pedestrian as blushing. The sight made her laugh, not in mockery, but in open love. The sound told him more than their clasped hands, or her lips on his, ever could. 

He wiped the emotion from his face, trying to recover his facade of cool authority. It did not convince her for a second. He cleared his throat and said, “Very well.” 

* * *

The revelation that their magic had already failed the Shacklebolts was devastating. Astoria nearly went into hysterics, and it took a lot of fast talking from Lucius to get her calm again. Narcissa went totally silent for a full half hour. 

To call for help was death. To leave the house was death. To apparate was death. If they remained where they were, it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered. 

They had to do something. She would not die like a rat in a cage. Ron and Harry, presumably, had gone down fighting. She had no intentions of doing any less. 

She hated herself for it, but she wished that they were here. If they were exposed, if the screening enchantments were doomed to fail, she would need a particular sort of fighter. Astoria and Narcissa were both incredible, talented witches, but she didn’t know if either of them had been in a real fight. 

In Lucius she had… a duelist, allegedly. She did not need a duelist. She did not need Lucius Malfoy, who fought one man at a time in clear, defined boundaries. She needed the men she had left for his sake, who had years of experience overcoming forces more powerful than themselves. 

Her selfishness appalled her. What sort of person thought that way? What sort of person left her friends to die, then wanted them with her because they might prove useful?

She had made the wrong choice. 

She didn’t regret it.

* * *

They knew that they were on borrowed time. Despite her earlier brashness, upon consideration she was forced to admit that the idea that they could create a spell powerful enough to protect the whole household was laughable. So was the idea of creating offensive magic sufficient to drive them away, should they come. 

They settled their eyes a little lower. Protecting Scorpius was the least they were willing to settle for. His survival was non-negotiable. That decided, they explored options. 

They were, unfortunately, quite limited. Many of the more powerful spells acted as beacons and would only expose them. Apparition was practically a death sentence. Conjuration and transfiguration too. Potions were safe, though, and most enchantments too. 

In the end, it was her who came up with the idea.

“Will it be enough?” Narcissa asked, once she had finished laying it all out. 

Hermione sighed at the hope in their eyes. “I really don’t know.”

* * *

The wards around the property had been cast by Lucius, and so he was the one to feel them fall. A pallour came over him and he dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor, instantly forgotten. 

Narcissa immediately understood, seizing Astoria’s hand and dragged the younger witch up to the nursery.

Lucius threw down warning sigils at random as they raced up the stairs after them. The second their feet hit the landing, Hermione blew up the staircase with a sharp cry. 

They barricaded themselves in the nursery. 

They all wasted a delirious minute taking turns holding Scorpius and trying not to give way to panic. Finally her good sense took over, and she checked once more to make sure that Scorpius still had the amulet safe around his throat, pretending her hands were not shaking.

An ear splitting shriek pierced the silence, then another, and another. The warning sigils. Someone, she could not have said who, moaned in terror. 

She managed to say, “Don’t go straight away- remember, only when we’re sure we’ve drawn enough of them-”

Astoria nodded frantically. They had gone over it again and again, after all. 

“Have you decided where you’re going?” Hermione asked. 

“Los Angeles Airport.” Narcissa replied. “Lucius and I flew in there. It was very crowded. Thousands of muggles. That should make them hesitate.”

She agreed. It was a good idea. “And you, Astoria?”

The door shook in its hinges and they all jumped. 

“Paris.” Astoria answered, and this time her voice had steel in it. “I want my son to see where his mother grew up.”

The dozens of protective runes and charms they had inscribed on the nursery door were smoking_ . _Hours upon hours of hard work and ingenuity, sizzling to nothing before their very eyes. 

There was a warning _ hiss, _and she saw that the screws in the doorjamb had started turning counter-clockwise. 

With a _ plink _, one of them fell to the floor. 

The little sound was the confirmation they all needed. The time had come to say goodbye. 

She looked helplessly at the four of them. Each so proud and determined in their own way. These were the people who had become the foundation of her life. Everything they had gone through together, everything they should have had to look forward to, hit her all at once and the weight of it smothered the words she wanted so badly to say. 

Astoria threw her arms around her. Narcissa gave her a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her shoulders. She shared a glance with Lucius, but that was all. She would _ not _say goodbye to him. 

Scorpius didn’t understand what was happening, but the sight of everyone he loved in such distress was finally enough to frighten him. He ran to her and threw his arms around her legs. 

“Don’t go, don’t leave-” 

Hermione could hear herself screaming on the inside. Voice cracking, she told him that she loved him. The child who had started it all. She rained kisses down upon his head for as long as she could. 

Lucius dropped to look Scorpius in the eye and placed a hand on his head. “Do as your mother says.” And then, under his breath, “Your father would be very proud of you. I’ll be with you in just a moment. Go on.”

With one last confused look over his shoulder, Scorpius tottered to his grandmother and mother. Astoria picked him up, and Narcissa firmly laid on each of them, her face tight with concentration. They were ready. 

The last of the runes vanished in a curling stream of blue smoke. The door groaned, fell inwards, and hit the floor with a mighty crash. 

Hermione and Lucius filled the air with magic, throwing duelists fire with flawless precision. Astoria made a snapping gesture with her wand and blasted a rippling shockwave down the hall. 

For a moment, there was stillness, and Hermione realised that the sirens had all gone quiet. She allowed herself to hope. 

In the corridor, a floorboard creaked. 

Lucius paled with a terrible fury. His arm uncoiling like a striking snake, he snarled, _ “Reducto!” _

Half the house simply shattered and blew away, and the thing went with it. The roof gave an ominous groan above their heads, and throwing caution to the wind, Hermione decided to make the best of it. 

She raised her wand and brought the roof down.

The ceiling fell against a hasty _ protego totalum _. It flickered, but held. For a moment, they huddled together under the barrier as dust filled the air, but then the floor collapsed beneath them and Hermione had to float them down to safety. 

Astoria and Narcissa shared twin looks of shock, as if they had not still expected to be alive. Scorpius had gone silent and deathly pale, his young mind completely overwhelmed. 

As one, she and Lucius cried, “We have their attention now!” and, “Go, go!”

“Goodbye.” Narcissa said, and disapparated, taking Astoria and Scorpius with her. And she was alone with him. 

If she squinted, she could just barely see the wreckage of the house that had been their refuge. There was not a piece of it standing above knee height. 

“Hermione Granger,” Lucius said gravely, “I believe you and I are due a conversation.” 

Now? Really? She had to do this now? 

She choked out a laugh. How was she supposed to put it into words? How could she possibly hope to explain it in a way that he could understand? 

“Well,” she started, “It’s like this-”

Through the haze, she saw movement. 

Lucius saw it too, and drew up a shield in a circle around them. Every spell she had ever learned raced through her head all at once, in a mad, useless jumble. 

Time slowed and she could count the seconds. 

_ One_. 

She could see it in her mind’s eye. 

They were in Los Angeles, they _ must _be. Perhaps Narcissa was giving Scorpius a hug for the last time. Loading up Astoria’s pockets with her jewellery, so he would never have to go without. 

_ Two. _

She bolstered his _ protego _ with a Silver Shield. The flare of light was blinding, searing, but she kept it up. Every second she and Lucius survived, they brought more down upon themselves and _ away _from Scorpius. 

Astoria and Scorpius would be gone by now, leaving Narcissa all alone in an airport with thousands of muggles. Hermione had sent her off to die in a strange land. Was she making her stand even now, as they were? Buying time in a fight she was destined to lose, making herself a target in any way she could. Hermione could not imagine that she would falter. She would fight to her last breath for her grandson’s sake, if not her own. 

  
_Three_

She could see Astoria and Scorpius in Paris. She let herself believe it was real. Astoria was drinking in her son's features, whispering her goodbyes against the softness of his cheeks. 

Lucius was stark against the light of the shields, his wand and cane thrown up before his face. The light flickered ominously. Lucius gave a groan and bowed beneath the strain, and Hermione knew that the shield was coming down.

She screamed at the top of her lungs for Lucius to _ let it go! _ And perhaps he read her mind, because he dropped the _ protego _ at the exact same moment that she released the Silver Shield. Adrenaline honed her concentration to a deadly edge, and she unleashed a silo of pure energy, to come arcing down into what had been the garden. 

It hardly mattered, of course, because by then they were completely surrounded. 

_ Four _

By unspoken agreement, Hermione held the sky, and Lucius held the ground. 

She turned the sky into a bonfire. 

If Astoria had done the right thing, she would have left Scorpius, casting spells all the while, knowing that they would chase her. Had she done it, or was it all for nothing? Hermione wished she knew. 

Lucius _ still _lived. It was the only reason she hadn’t been overwhelmed. Lashing about left and right with his wand and cane, he made them pay grievously for every inch. Shields alternating with brutal blasts of power. Vicious shredding curses that could rip a wizard in two. Her heart overflowed with pride to see him. But it was not enough. Something reached out through his shield and snatched him away, and he was gone. 

_ Five _

The loss and the rage gave her strength. Screaming, she split the flame in half, and again, and again, and brought it down all around her. It sucked the air right out of her lungs, but it kept them back. 

She saw them all together. Her loved ones, and him, and all her friends. Alive, and safe, and happy. 

The heat baked the grief off her cheeks and dimly, she smelled hair burning. 

She didn’t have enough energy to cast a proper shield. The fire took everything she had. 

She couldn’t do it by herself. 

She tried anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This story was a joy to write. I would really love some reviews, as they are my crack, so please feel free to comment any impressions/gripes/questions you have!
> 
> A lot of work went into this fic, and not just from me. I had a LOT of help, for which I am extremely grateful. 
> 
> My Editor, JessariOfErebor, is a lifesaver. Comma-Smiter, Queen of Descriptions, and Maker of Various Dinosaur Noises.  
My Bettas; Dismodesty_Blaise and Bosun Marcella, who assured me that the ending could stay, and helped polish that woeful first draft and turn it into something good.


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